No Time Like The Present
by MayFairy
Summary: If Hecate Hardbroom could have her way, there would never be a replacement art teacher and the position would fade into non-existence. The Mists of Time, however, apparently have other ideas. They bring a free spirited witch, who has until now been a party girl in 1920's Paris, to the doorstep of Cackle's Academy. Hecate finds her intolerable. Pippa does not. [Hecate/Pippa/OC]
1. Ninety One Years Late

**Apparently I can't consume a piece of media without wanting to whip up a character of my own and throw them at my fave to see what happens.**

 **This is going to be very cute, and very gay, and hopefully fairly silly in places (though displaced in time is never a totally angst free trope, so we'll see how we go).**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

It's barely been two weeks since Halloween when the teachers go into a panic one afternoon. It should be alarming, but honestly, with how this year has gone so far, it's just astounding that they've gotten two weeks of relative peace. (Relative being the key word - there have been three accidental animal transformations and a third year girl who was bright blue for a day and a half, but nothing of particular note otherwise.)

Still, when Miss Cackle is looking serious, that means it must be something properly worrying, and it doesn't take too long to work out why.

The moment that Mildred and her friends look out of the windows, they see that there's a thick, familiar mist brimming outside. The kind of mist that fills the whole area, suffocates the castle, trapping them inside or - well. Mildred is never going to forget the _last_ time.

"The Mists of Time are back?" Mildred asks Miss Cackle.

"It would seem so," Miss Cackle says, a deep frown creasing her forehead. "It was so many years between the last two times. This is so soon, not even a year. All we can do is ensure that everyone stays inside."

"Don't worry, I'm on it," Miss Drill says, blowing her whistle at full volume and making a nearby Miss Hardbroom wince.

"So long as everybody stays inside and does not wander off," Miss Hardbroom pauses to give Mildred a meaningful warning look, making the girl gulp and hurriedly nod, "there is theoretically no cause for concern. Everyone get to your classes as per usual."

"With the exception of PE, which is now a free study period," Miss Drill adds.

And so the afternoon progresses more or less without incident.

Even the first years manage to stay out of trouble - Mildred attempts to warn Sybil and her friends about the mist, only to learn that Ethel has actually done so already, to make a nice change. There's no way they'll be going anywhere.

"At least it seems like we all learned our lesson after last time," Maud says as they leave their final class for the day.

Almost the moment the words leave her mouth, there is a knock on the front door of the school, and the girls freeze.

After a few moments, there is another knock, consisting of several rapid taps.

"Um… Miss Hardbroom?" Mildred finds herself asking the thin air in the hopes that she might appear. In the past, it's seemed as though she can listen in on conversations and just materialise, so it seems as though it is worth a chance.

Sure enough, Miss Hardbroom transfers next to them a moment later, her posture stiff.

" _What_ is that infernal noise?" she asks, craning her head around to look at the door, where the knocking is getting more insistent.

"Someone's knocking," Maud says.

"I can hear that, Miss Spellbody," Miss Hardbroom says with a sigh of exasperation. The tension in her frame has not faded at all, but she begins to walk towards the door, only to stop.

She transfers away, only to transfer right back a moment later, this time with Miss Cackle at her side.

"Hecate, what-"

Hecate simply points a finger in the direction of the door and the knocking. "We appear to have a… visitor."

"But the Mists of Time-"

"Are still present, yes."

Miss Cackle steels herself, and moves to open the door while Miss Hardbroom and the girls watch silently. The door finally opens and a woman comes striding through, broom in her hand. She's wearing dark robes over a bright red and orange flapper dress, the style of which Mildred recognises from watching period movies with her mum. The broom has glittery ribbons coming off the tail.

"Finally," the woman says as she looks at them all and grins. "I was starting to get worried I would be left out there for goodness knows how long. Bizarre mist, isn't it?"

They all stare at her.

"Right, sorry, stranger turning up on your doorstep," she says, making a face and laughing a little as she bows with her hand to her forehead. "Well met. Frances Fairheart. I'm here to pick up Miss Belinda Barnes?"

Miss Hardbroom and Miss Cackle exchange confused looks, the former mouthing the name with an odd look on her face, and Mildred finds herself doing the same with her own friends. There's no one at Cackle's with that name, as far as Mildred knows.

"We have a Miss Brittany Barnes in Year Four, and she is the only Barnes currently enrolled here," Miss Hardbroom says to Miss Fairheart, eyebrow up. "Is that who you were looking for?"

Miss Fairheart blinks at her for a moment, and then laughs. "No, no, I'm not looking for a student, I mean Belinda Barnes, the teacher. When I say _pick up_ , I mean, you know, for a night out. Dancing, cocktails, that sort of thing. I'm sure she's expecting me."

It sounds lovely, in theory, except that if this woman has been in the mist, _and_ she's wearing an old kind of fancy dress… she's probably come from the past. Which means that whoever she's looking for was probably here a long, long time ago.

"I'm afraid there's no one here under that name, teacher or otherwise," Miss Cackle says slowly, with a sadness to her voice that doesn't make sense to Mildred at first, but then it hits her. "At least… not anymore."

The smile is finally fading from Miss Fairheart's face. "I… I don't understand."

"Do you know what those mists outside are, Miss... Fairheart, was it?"

Miss Fairheart just gives her an odd look. "I'm sorry?"

"What year is it?" Miss Hardbroom asks her, out of nowhere, and in any other situation Mildred might have punched the air, because so far her theory is _right_.

"Is this a trick question? 1926."

"1926," Miss Hardbroom breathes, and Mildred gets the idea that while she had been expecting an answer different to 2017, she hadn't expect an answer _that_ far from their current time.

"But that's ninety one years ago," Enid blurts out, from their place several metres back.

"What?" Miss Fairheart says, with great alarm, looking past the other adults to the three girls. "Seriously, if this is a joke, you really need to work on your-"

"I can assure you it is no joke, Miss Fairheart," Miss Cackle says to her, quietly, making the younger woman look back to her with a new vulnerability in her eyes. "It is 2017 and my name is Ada Cackle, and I am Headmistress here. And the more I think about it, I think I did know a Miss Belinda Barnes, a long time ago, when I was a young girl myself and at school here. She was one of my favourite teachers. The most spry and sharp of any older women I knew, more so at seventy than I myself am now."

"Seventy," Miss Fairheart whispers.

"She taught potions, did she not?"

"I believe so."

"Theoretically, we should be able to get you back easily enough," Miss Hardbroom interrupts, "simply go out into the Mist, and then return."

"That will get me back? To ninety one years in the past?" Miss Fairheart asks hopefully.

"I don't know," Miss Hardbroom says. "But it's worth a try."

"Alright. Well, thank you. I'll give it a try."

With a nod to them, and then to the girls, Miss Fairheart grips her broom harder and exits out of the front doors. While she is gone, Mildred glances at her friends, who shrug and go back to watching the door, to see if anything happens. Miss Cackle and HB are watching the doors too.

A minute later, the door opens, and Miss Fairheart enters once again, and her face falls when she sees them.

"Damn," she says.

"I was afraid of this," Miss Cackle says.

"Why didn't it work?" HB asks her, half curiosity and half concern.

"If I were to theorise, it would be that Miss Fairheart was not inside the academy when the mists arrived, thus the previous protocol of being returned to one's own time by returning through the same place one exited, cannot quite apply."

"Meaning?"

Miss Cackle looks away from Miss Hardbroom without answering her question, and gives Miss Fairheart a look of extreme sympathy. "I am so sorry, Miss Fairheart, but I'm afraid there is a very strong chance that there is no way for you to return to your own time."

Miss Fairheart takes a long, shuddering breath, her grip on her broom so tight that her knuckles are stark white.

"Can you think of nothing?" she asks.

"We can do our best to look into the matter, but I don't wish to give you any kind of false hope," Miss Cackle says to her. "But we will of course be more than happy to help you with the… adjustment."

"Right," Miss Fairheart says. "Um. Thank you."

"Miss Mould's quarters?" Miss Hardbroom asks Miss Cackle.

"An excellent idea, Hecate."

"Our… _art_ teacher recently had to vacate her position, you may use her quarters for the moment," Miss Hardbroom says.

"Oh, thank you," Miss Fairheart says, surprised. "Sorry, and you are?"

"Hecate Hardbroom, deputy headmistress, and current potions teacher," Miss Hardbroom says. "I believe I'm actually familiar with some of Belinda Barnes' academic work, now that I think on it. If you are interested, I may be able to find it for you."

"I didn't actually know her very well," Miss Fairheart admitted. "We'd only met the once. This was supposed to be a first date of sorts. I was only meant to be in the country for a week."

"Where had you been living?" Miss Cackle asks, putting a hand on the small of her back and leading her towards the stairs.

"Paris, they throw the most wonderful parties," Miss Fairheart says, eyes lighting up a bit. "You know, one time, there was a wizard who was dared to-"

"Girls, run along to your rooms," Miss Hardbroom says to Mildred and the others, glowering. "And speak of this to no one. There is no need for the whole school to be involved in such a private matter."

"Of course, Miss Hardbroom," Mildred says, and Enid and Maud chorus their agreement.

It doesn't stop them from whispering about it amongst themselves in their rooms long past bedtime, however.

* * *

By morning, the Mists of Time have cleared, and with the sun shining, there is not a trace left of them.

Not a trace, but the witch now wandering around the perimeter of Ada's office.

Frances Fairheart is probably not quite thirty, with light brown skin and dark eyes, with similarly dark hair that falls in curls just past her chin. She's beautiful in the way so many ridiculous women are (and Hecate uses this adjective and comparison because she's still wearing that absurd glittering dress underneath her dark robe, and no sensible witch would put such long ribbons on her broom). Or, she would be that typical sort of beauty, if it were not for her stronger jaw that gives her a hint of something more singular.

Currently her dark eyes are curious and quiet as they move around Ada's office, while her hands clutch a historical volume on the second World War and the notable magical events within it. They'd given her a number of history books the night before after showing her to Miss Mould's room, so that she might be able to spend the evening reading and find out what the world had endured and created and become in the ninety one years she had skipped. (With the understanding that, should they find a way to return her to the past, she agree to take a memory-altering potion so that she not go forward with dangerous foreknowledge. She had thankfully agreed immediately.)

"How are you doing?" Ada asks her. "I know it must be quite a shock, but we're here to do anything we can to make it easier for you. Do you have any questions?"

Frances hesitates, a look of dismay crossing her face, and it's odd, because Hecate has always thought that some faces seem to be made for certain expressions and not others, and the emotion just looks wrong on her features, like they're not used to hosting it.

"So much has happened," Frances says, biting her lip. "The world went to _war_ again, parts of it are still so-" She goes quiet again, swallowing hard. "I'm sorry, you'll have to forgive my lack of - I'm not used to dealing with unpleasant things, I think this is the most serious I've had to be about anything since I was eighteen."

"Is there anything we can do for you?" Ada asks her. "Is it possible you have any living friends or family? Children?"

An odd, barking laugh escapes from Frances.

"No. No children. No… anything. Guess I should be grateful I never had any family to lose. Some friends in Paris, sure, but… I'm sure they got over it."

"I see," Ada says, sadly.

"Oh," Frances breathes, eyes widening a fraction. "My gallery. I wonder what happened to it."

"Your.. gallery?" Hecate asks, confused.

"Yes, tiny little thing, but it was mine, and that made it - well. Doesn't matter now, I suppose," Frances says, only to cough into her free hand and force a smile, shrugging. "Probably just got given to the next remotely talented person who came along. Which is fine. Good, really. I just… wonder what happened to my work." A strange look crosses her face. "Hold on. Did you say it was your art teacher who had had to vacate her position? Is there… a vacancy?"

Ada looks at her with interest. "Your gallery… as in, an art gallery? Are you an artist, Miss Fairheart?"

"I am, actually," Frances says, brightening. "Painting and dancing, mostly, but I dabble in others. I've never taught children before, but I'd be more than willing to try, I love sharing that sort of thing with other people-"

"So what I am hearing is that you are _not_ a qualified teacher," Hecate interrupts, frowning. "Which means that we couldn't possibly-"

"Oh, Hecate, but how can we ignore such a fateful thing?" Ada asks, claspings her hands together. "A capable artist, lost in a new world, falling right into our laps just as we need one."

Hecate stares at her with disbelief. "I wasn't under the impression we _needed_ an art teacher at all."

"Of course you do," Frances says, laughing. "How else are they going to learn to express themselves? Unless chanting lessons have _really_ progressed since I was in school, and with the books you've given me to look at, I'm fairly sure they haven't."

Hecate Hardbroom, then and there, decides that she is fairly sure she is not going to get along with Frances Fairheart much, if at all.

Ada, however, being Ada, laughs. "You're already sounding like Miss Mould. She was an excellent creative spirit."

"Oh yes, because her sounding like the woman who was planning to betray us all to free your psychopathic sister is absolutely a positive sign," Hecate retorts, astounded.

"I beg your pardon?" Frances asks, looking at her with confusion.

"Well, given that Miss Fairheart comes from a time before my sister and I were even born, we are hardly in any danger of that particular scenario repeating itself," Ada says patiently, with a smile. "I even found Miss Fairheart in some old witching records early this morning, and it seems she did indeed apparently vanish off the face of the earth in 1926."

"Does this mean… I have a job?" Frances asks tentatively.

Ada smiles warmly at her. "Provided that your inexperience with teaching children doesn't become a problem, I don't see why not, at least on a trial basis. And it will give you time to adjust regardless."

"Thank you thank you thank you!" Frances exclaims, beaming from ear to ear and doing an odd little spin of excitement. "I'll do my absolute best, I promise, and I'll welcome any teaching advice you'll give me."

"How… eager… of you," Hecate says, making a face.

"You do seem to be taking this whole situation remarkable well, for the most part," Ada says, tilting her head a little.

"Well, crying would ruin my makeup when I _just_ fixed it, and honestly, I'm never one to look back, only forward - which admittedly, is trickier in this particular situation, but I'm about making the best of things. I'll be honest, I sort was waiting for something to take my life in a new direction, just because I was getting _bored_ ," Frances says, with an odd little laugh. "And, alright, this is _definitely_ not what I had in mind. This is absurd. But I think it might actually be _better_. Parties and galleries were fun while it lasted, but I've always felt like I could do more-"

Hecate is astounded at how rapidly this woman is able to talk, and how few of any of those words really meant anything of substance. It makes her immensely uncomfortable.

"Well, your enthusiasm is charming," Ada says, making Hecate want to roll her eyes. "And I would be delighted to give you some tips on teaching, as I'm sure Hecate here would be as well."

"I-" Hecate's protest dies in her throat as Ada gives her a firm look. "Of course." She attempts to give Frances a smile. "I can teach you how to have a very firm hand, which is absolutely needed with these girls, some in particular."

Frances grins at her. "Tell you what, I'll see how I go, and _then_ ask for help with whatever problems arise."

Ada smiles and nods. "An excellent idea. Welcome to Cackles, Miss Fairheart."

Hecate guesses, as Frances does another little twirl, that it will be less than forty eight hours before she is on the mirror to Pippa, complaining about this new addition to their faculty.

It takes twenty five and a half hours, and only because the new art lessons don't start until the next day.

Sometimes, Hecate Hardbroom is sure that the universe is determined to try and persuade her that she should give up on teaching. She never listens, of course, but it's at times like this that she really wishes it were possible to challenge the cosmic force of the universe to a duel for the chance to win some _fucking peace and quiet_.

* * *

 **Pippa will make her entrance next chapter and I'm beyond excited.**

 **Thanks for reading, please let me know what you thought!**


	2. First Day Hiccups

Pippa isn't quite sure what she expects when she mirrors Hecate. They've mirrored more frequently in the last two weeks, ever since Cackle's had nearly frozen over with the magic absorbing ice.

Pippa has been so worried about Hecate, ever since then. She's mostly back to her old self, now, but there's the odd look in her eye, of remembering. Occasionally her arms wrap around herself and she doesn't even seem to realise that she's remembering being so very cold and devoid of the warmth that is their very lifeforce.

It just makes Pippa want to wrap her up into the biggest hug possible, and warm her up in all sorts of ways. But she knows she can't, not right now. Hecate still isn't getting any of her increasingly blatant signals, and Pippa is starting to dread that she might be ignoring them on purpose.

If they are to be only friends, then so be it. Pippa is more than happy to just have Hecate back in her life, one way or another. It's been slow going, rebuilding their friendship after so long, but they're getting there, and the ache in Pippa's heart is worth the warmth.

When Hecate finally appears in the mirror, she looks so thoroughly vexed that Pippa holds in a sigh and adjusts herself in her seat to mentally prepare for another rant about Mildred Hubble or Ethel Hallow.

"That _woman_!" she exclaims with a noise of fury.

Pippa sits up a bit straighter. "Pardon?"

"It's a disaster here, Pippa," Hecate says seriously, enough so that Pippa's heart kicks up a notch and she starts to worry terribly, until, "we have a new art teacher."

Pippa collapses back into her comfortable armchair. "Hiccup! Don't scare me like that, what with Cackle's track record."

Hecate actually pauses, and flushes the smallest fraction. "Apologies."

"Now, what's this about an art teacher?"

"We have…" Hecate's lip curls with disgust. "A new one."

Pippa just laughs at her. "You had to know it was a possibility, after Miss Mould left. Besides, you couldn't stand Miss Mould, how could this one possibly be worse? Has she laughed out loud, loudly?"

"She has laughed out loud, loudly, multiple times," Hecate says stonily. "And that is merely the tip of the iceberg."

Pippa can't help the delighted giggle that escapes her at the response. It's the kind of sound, paired with what she's sure are what kids these days call 'heart eyes', that anyone with a fraction of sense in matters of the heart would recognise in an instant as a tell of utter adoration and infatuation.

So, naturally, it goes entirely over Hecate's head and Pippa only gets an eye roll in return.

"Oh?" Pippa asks, smiling and lifting her eyebrow. "Do tell."

* * *

 _Two Hours Earlier_

"Does anyone know anything about the new art teacher? I haven't been able to find out _anything_."

The absolute horror and bewilderment in Felicity Foxglove's voice at this particular fact sets Mildred, Maud and Enid off into giggles, purely because knowing something that Felicity doesn't is always satisfying.

"I saw a strange woman in the kitchens yesterday afternoon, perhaps it was her," someone says.

"Did she have short curly hair?" Maud asks.

"Yes! Have you seen her too?"

"... possibly," Maud says, lifting her chin and looking like she's trying to do her best to sound mysterious. " _I_ might even know her name."

"Is my name supposed to be some sort of great secret?" a voice remarks, as a form starts to appear on the cluster of desks in the middle of the classroom that all of the others face towards. "Sweet Terpsichore, I wish someone had told _me_."

As Mildred and the other two had suspected, the person who is now sitting in front of them, a large grin on her face, is none other than Miss Fairheart. She's forgone her fancy dress in favour of one more casual but just as becoming - orange with billowy sleeves that comes to her knees, with heeled brown boots and a soft yellow feather in her hair.

"Wow," Mildred hears Felicity say, but it's hard to tell if the budding journalist and fashion enthusiast is impressed or the opposite.

"Seems like the sort of thing I ought to know," Miss Fairheart continues, looking around them all, eyes sparkling, "I have a terrible habit of saying it to any new person I meet, after all."

Mildred shares a giggle with Enid, and a flash of triumph goes through Miss Fairheart's eyes.

"And yet, we remain in suspense," Ethel says, sounding unimpressed.

"Miss Frances Fairheart," comes the reply, as the woman in question gets off the desk and hits the floor for the first time. She puts her hand to her forehead and bows. "Well met, all of you." She looks at Ethel. "And you are?"

"Ethel Hallow," the blonde girl says primly.

"Delighted, I'm sure. Now, I want all of your names. Bonus marks on your preliminary test if you can come up with an amusing way to ensure I remember your name more easily," Miss Fairheart tells them all, conjuring a quill from mid air.

The horrified look on Ethel's face is priceless. "But that's not how bonus marks-"

"Oh, shut up, Ethel," Enid says with a roll of her eyes, before looking back to Miss Fairheart, a similar expression of distaste on her face all the same. "We're getting a _test_?"

"Well, how am I supposed to know what to teach and nurture if I don't know what I'm working with?" Fairheart asks absently, eyes scouring over them and her quill scribbling over her left forearm with what _must_ be magic since surely otherwise it would _hurt_. "Don't worry, this test isn't the scary kind with lots of percentages and that dreary sort of thing. Mine will be fun, hopefully."

"A fun test," Felicity says, sounding dubious.

"Well, it involves paint, which in my experience always increases the fun of any activity by at least half again." Miss Fairheart chuckles and waggles her quill in the girl's direction. "You know, that Miss Hardbroom of yours has been giving me all sorts of pointers-" She grins wider when she sees the face that several girls pull. "And I'll be honest, I think we have _very_ different approaches to this sort of - well, no, to more or less everything, really. But this was the one suggestion I couldn't fault. Of course, I doubt she'd approval of my marking scheme, given its… lack of existence."

"Is anyone else confused?" Mildred asks her friends. "I'm getting confused."

"One thing before we start. Dreadfully important question for you all," Miss Fairheart says, sitting on the edge of the desk, leaning forward.

They wait, and a tense silence falls across the classroom.

"Is your Miss Hardbroom _always_ like… _that_ ," she finishes, a bit lamely, making a face.

"Yes," Maud and Enid chorus in resigned unison, and everyone in the room nods.

Miss Fairheart's eyebrow quirks, and for a moment Mildred swears that she laughs, or is about to, but she catches herself and coughs instead. "Interesting," she says mildly, standing back up, before muttering to herself something that sounds like, "well, I do like a challenge."

Mildred frowns, and Enid and Maud are wearing similar expressions. They glance at each other, share their dumbfoundment, and shrug before moving on.

Miss Fairheart starts getting everyone to say their names, and an amusing recall device if they can think of one. Most come up a bit short, but a few come up with something.

("Foxglove," says Felicity, "and you can remember that I'm the one interested in fashion, who has the word Glove in her name."

"Or the flower concerned with clusters of pretty but mostly identical blossoms?" Miss Fairheart asks, eyebrow up. "Who is interested in the aesthetics of the masses? Noted. Partial credit for the attempt, Miss Foxglove, thank you."

Felicity nods, looking understandably unsure of the reception of her idea.)

Mildred, however, has no problem at all when it comes to be her turn.

"Mildred Hubble," she says, grinning, "rhymes with Trouble. Which I don't _mean_ to be, but am. You can even ask Miss Hardbroom."

Miss Fairheart laughs with what can only be delight. "Oh, I just might." Her expression becomes more serious for a moment, as she steps closer, holding Mildred's gaze. There's a sternness to her that has come out of nowhere, and Mildred is all at once a bit nervous. "And you're right, I can spot trouble a _mile_ away and you're it. So don't. Try. Anything."

Mildred swallows, too stunned at the complete turn around to know what to say, until -

Miss Fairheart laughs.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mildred Hubble, you should see your face," she says, covering her mouth to cover her guilty smile. "I shouldn't have worried you like that. I was only going to say that the reason I can spot trouble a mile away is because up until now I've usually been the one making it."

"Are teachers _allowed_ to make trouble?" Ethel asks, narrowing her eyes. "That sounds extremely questionable to me."

"Well, Miss Gullet and Agatha _and_ Miss Mould all made trouble," Maud says.

"I only barely know who two of those three are, but I'm not _that_ sort of trouble, I promise," Miss Fairheart says, shaking her head, chuckling again. "And to answer your question, Ethel 'I don't need to come up with an amusing play on words because my family is so well reputed it's insulting that I even be asked' Hallow, you're absolutely right that teachers should not make trouble. Which is why my troublemaking days are behind me, starting today. But the skills I acquired will be mine forever, and as such… I'll be keeping my eye on all of you."

She regards them with a bizarre, intense, stiff gaze for a moment, before it cracks a moment later.

"I'm sorry, I was trying to mimic Miss Hardbroom but I think there are some expressions only _her_ face is capable of making," she says, and the class laughs a bit at that. She claps her hands together. "Now. Test."

There's a couple of groans.

"No, no, this really will be fun, I promise," Miss Fairheart says, conjuring a sizable piece of art paper to sit before each of them, along with paint pots. "The test is simple. I want you to paint me something that makes _you_ feel something. I don't mind what it is, I don't mind how you do it, except for one rule - you aren't allowed to use a brush."

"How are we supposed to paint without a-"

Mildred cuts off Ethel's protest with a half-disbelieving, half-delighted, "is this test… _fingerpainting_?"

Miss Fairheart grins and taps her nose conspiratorially. "Is that what I said? Hmm. I suppose it must be."

They get half an hour for their test, and Mildred spends the first five minutes giggling with Enid and Maud about the disgusted twist of Ethel's nose as she dips her fingers into the paint in front of her and goes about her test with a scowl.

After that, Mildred focuses, and starts working on an illustration that shows Tabby on her broom, riding it like a pro on his own like in this one bizarre dream she'd had but thoroughly enjoyed. It's hard to make it match her dream, to make it look as good, but she comes pretty close, and is fairly happy with it by the time she's finished.

"Have you done the stars in the shape of pawprints?" Miss Fairheart asks when she comes around to evaluate, and Mildred smiles bashfully and nods. "That's _brilliant_. I love it. Now, Enid Only A Little Bit Deadly Nightshade? Let's see what you-"

" _What_ is going on in here?"

Mildred flinches at the sound of the voice of Miss Hardbroom, which enters the room a moment before the deputy does.

"Miss Hardbroom," Fairheart remarks with a smile, turning around to face her. "Lovely of you to drop in. The girls are just finishing up their test."

Hardbroom examines the room with narrowed eyes. "This… is not a test. This is fingerpainting."

"Wrong," Fairheart says, making Hardbroom blink with a sort of bewilderment, and Mildred has to wonder how often she's been just so blatantly told she is wrong to her face before, if _ever_. "It's both, actually."

"This is not what I intended when I-"

"Well, naturally, I'd be concerned if an art teacher and potions teacher attempted to set the same test, that would be rather ridiculous," Fairheart retorts, grinning. "It's a good, if imperfect, measure of raw ability. I promise, I have a marking criteria and everything, it's all very above board."

Hardbroom steps closer, entering Fairheart's personal bubble. "This is a serious academic institution-"

Fairheart, as opposed to being intimidated by the older woman's presence, holds her ground and looks up at Hecate with an even gaze. "Well, I promise the fingerpainting was very serious. There was minimal laughter and joy in this room, of course, as dictated by test conditions."

"Are you mocking me?" Hardbroom breathes.

"I have absolutely no idea," Fairheart replies, just as quietly. "But I don't appreciate your split second judgement of me or my work. Let the Headmistress worry about my methods and curriculum, Miss Hardbroom, I'm sure your heart will thank you for it."

Hardbroom stares at her for a moment, before glaring and transferring away.

Fairheart swallows in her wake, before straightening her posture and tugging on her dress. "Alright. Well. If everyone could make sure that their work is signed, you're free to go and use the rest of this period as a study period. Thank you."

Mildred, Enid and Maud stay behind, waiting until everyone else has gone.

"So… you're staying here in the future and are going to be our art teacher?" Maud asks her.

Fairheart smiles at them, running a hand through her hair and taking a deep breath, like she'd forgotten to do so for the last half an hour. "I - yes. Something like that."

"Wicked," Enid says.

"Miss Hardbroom isn't as bad as she seems," Mildred tells her. "I know she's harsh sometimes, but she does… care. A lot. I always think she's just not very good at showing it. And she gets too intense about things like tests."

"Yeah, please don't let her scare you off."

"She doesn't scare me, don't worry," Fairheart assures them. "Takes a lot more than that. She has no idea what she's getting into with me."

Mildred thinks that she may be right, but also that Miss Fairheart doesn't quite know what she's getting into with Miss Hardbroom, either. It's hard to know how to try and explain that, though, and she opts for not trying at all, since with her luck it would probably backfire.

"Well, I'm really excited to take art with you," is all that Mildred says in the end, and Miss Fairheart smiles widely at her.

"As long as somebody is, that's good enough for me."

* * *

 _Present_

"Fingerpainting? All this fuss over _fingerpainting_ , Hiccup?"

In retrospect, Hecate should probably have foreseen what Pippa's opinion on this would be. She needs to make her understand, see that of course it isn't just this singular, if offensive thing.

"It wasn't just the fingerpainting, it is her _attitude_ -"

"You think everyone has an attitude, and let's not forget _your_ attitude-"

" _My_ attitude?"

"Well, it sounds to me as though you went into her classroom during her first lesson and tried to completely undermine what she was doing in front of the students," Pippa points out. "How would you feel if you were starting a new position and the deputy did that to you?"

Hecate opens her mouth to argue that it's different, that she would never have anything worth mocking in her lesson. A lifetime's worth of unkind words from her adolescence from their fellow students, from even other teachers she's encountered over the years who seem to lift their noses at her, floods in.

She swallows. "I-"

"Exactly," Pippa says, sighing. "I just think you should try to give her a chance, Hiccup."

"I will… try," Hecate concedes, with great effort, and only because the thought of Pippa looking at her with any kind of disappoint is an awful one. "There is… something else, about her. We haven't told the rest of the staff yet."

"Oh?" Pippa looks at her with interest. "And what might that be?"

"I don't know if I should say."

"Is it potentially dangerous information?"

"Not… in your hands, no," Hecate says. "She came to us through the Mists of Time and is unable to return. She's from… 1926."

"1926?" Pippa gapes. "Truly, Hecate?"

"It would seem so, Ada has shown me the records she managed to locate, that verify her claim. And she _was_ fairly convincing upon her arrival. She was very… lost."

"Oh, the poor thing, I don't doubt it," Pippa says, sympathy all over her face.

"She seems to have recovered from the considerable shock with an astounding speed, however," Hecate tells her. "So I see no need to treat her any differently that I might any other member of staff."

"She might just be putting on a brave face."

"Perhaps. But I doubt it."

" _Everyone, I would like to introduce you to our newest member of staff: Miss Frances Fairheart. She is going to be our new art teacher, since I do believe the subject has been a substantial benefit to Cackle's and the girls should not have to suffer academically because of the fault of one of their teachers."_

 _Everyone in the staffroom, understandably taken aback by the completely out of the blue announcement, exchanges looks._

" _Well met," Fairheart says with a little bow, and gets the same greeting from the others._

" _Dimity Drill, physical education. Welcome aboard," Dimity tells her afterwards. "HB didn't scare you too much, did she? She likes grilling new recruits."_

" _Oh, let her try," Fairheart laughs._

 _Dimity's eyebrow lifts as she laughs a bit, surprised. "Okay, I like you already, Frances Fairheart."_

" _Please, call me Frankie."_

Pippa is smiling indulgently as Hecate provides this extra piece of information. "Frankie? How darling. I haven't met her, or any idea what she looks like, but I bet it suits her."

Hecate sniffs. "It's hardly the name for a woman of any dignity, so I suppose… yes, it does."

Pippa nearly chokes on an odd laugh, and gives her a look of disapproval. "Hiccup, that was unkind."

"It was… not a comment to be taken seriously, I assure you," Hecate murmurs.

Pippa gives her a strange look, a curl to her lips. "Hiccup, was that your attempt at a joke?" Hecate purses her lips and says nothing, trying to keep her cheeks from flushing with embarrassment. "Oh, darling, we're going to need to work on that. It was fairly dismal-"

"Noted," Hecate says, wincing. It's so absurd, and she wouldn't bother trying at all except that it's _Pippa_ and once upon a time she used to be able to make Pippa laugh -

"But I adore you for trying, even if it was at this poor woman's expense," Pippa adds, making Hecate's heart flutter for a moment even if she doesn't mean what a part of Hecate desperately wishes she did. "But you can do better. We'll work on it."

"If you insist."

"It's an excellent personal project, and laughter is good for the soul," Pippa says, beaming at her. "Besides, I've missed your laugh, Hiccup."

"As have I, I believe it ran away from me a couple of decades back."

Pippa laughs, that beautiful, ringing sound that makes Hecate's chest ache a bit because of how much she's missed it. It reminds her so much of their adolescence, and of everything they had missed out on for so long because of Hecate's utter idiocy and insecurity.

"Maybe you're better at this than I thought."

"I doubt it," Hecate says flatly.

They talk as long as they can before marking becomes a priority for both of them for the rest of the evening, and Hecate watches the sight of her best friend disappear from her mirror and hates how much she hates it.

In some ways it's torture having Pippa back in her life, the same kind of torture it had been when they were younger and Hecate had been so infatuated only to watch Pippa surrounded by and flirting with all sorts of pretty people she could never measure up to.

It's worth it, though, because in other ways, it feels as though she's able to breathe again for the first time in decades.

Shaking her head at herself, she goes back to her marking, and tries not to dread what tomorrow and the new art teacher might bring.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading, please let me know what you thought!**


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